


Start-up Chime

by idiotbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coping, Ezekiel | Gadreel Possessing Sam Winchester, Fix-It, Gen, Guilty Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotbrothers/pseuds/idiotbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean notices that Sam's being uncharacteristically secretive about what he does on his laptop. The stage is set for a major confrontation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start-up Chime

"Hey, Sam!" Dean called out from the war room, the answering silence informing him that his brother was probably puttering around in some other corner of the bunker. "I'm gonna use your computer, okay?" He took the continued silence for confirmation. Dean hadn't had to use one of Sam's ever-evolving laptops since they'd first upgraded from Sidekicks to smartphones, but he figured it wasn't a big deal. His phone was currently charging in his room and he just needed to look something up really quickly so he could cross-reference it with something he'd read in the old dead guys' collected works.

Pulling Sam's computer towards him over the map table, he hit the space bar to awaken the monitor, only to cock an eyebrow in surprise. The laptop was password-protected. Sam had never locked Dean out of his computer before, even back when Dean used to fuck it up on a monthly basis with all the porn sites he visited.

Sam chose that moment to walk in, looking freshly scrubbed and shower-misted. Dean immediately noticed that his step faltered a little when he saw Dean touching his laptop. If he'd been a tad quizzical when the password lock had brightened the screen, he was now full-on suspicious. "Hey," Dean said, carefully nonchalant. "Needed to google something and ended up having to take guesses at your password. I'd bet good money on 'pansyboy69'."

Sam made a face at him, taking the chair across from Dean's at the table and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. "Cute. What're you researching? I'll save you the trouble." He reached over and swung the laptop towards himself, lighting-quick fingers punching in the password as he waited for Dean's direction, always eager in the face of untapped knowledge.

Right.

He wasn't fooling Dean. Either Sam's OCD tendencies were getting worse and he just didn't want his brother's grubby hands on his stuff, or he'd been hiding something under Dean's nose. God knew it wouldn't be the first time. "Earth to Dean." The patented Sam Winchester Stare of Sincere Concern was making an appearance, so Dean gave himself a mental shake and got down to rattling off keywords for Sam to string together, inwardly telling himself to give it a rest with the conspiracy theories for once. It wasn't until months later that that particular conspiracy theory transformed from a vague, half-remembered sliver of doubt into a legitimate cause for worry. 

* * *

"Dean," Sam said, poking his head into the war room, where Dean had been nodding off in his chair, legs kicked up on the table and arms crossed over a book. He jolted awake when Sam spoke, nearly falling on his ass.

"I'm going out. Do you want anything?" 

Dean wiped at the drool on his chin grumpily, hoping his glare conveyed the full extent of his ire. "What I _want_ is to be left alone for two goddamn seconds," he muttered contrarily, because they'd just gotten home from a hunt an hour ago and it was only six in the evening, so he had to keep up the illusion that he was working on following up their next lead rather than going to bed like the old geezer he most definitely wasn't.

Sam smiled astutely--the little shit--and said, "You know, it's been found that daily naps can work wonders on cognitive performance in the elderly." Dean groaned, feeling a sudden aching need to stretch but not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction. "I wasn't _napping_. I was taking a break. From all this hard work I'm doing, while you go off on your little joy-ride." He shifted in his chair to get more comfortable, and the book landed face-down on the floor with a _smack_.

"Uh-huh. Keep up the good work."

Dean hummed assentingly and let his eyelids droop again as Sam left, the sound of his heavy footfalls fading little by little. Before he could get too far, Dean remembered something and said, "We're low on beer! And buy the right kind this time!" The main door slammed shut on the end of his sentence, and Dean rolled his eyes, getting up to go grab a pillow from his room now that Sam would be gone for a while. Right as he was turning the corner, a bright chiming noise issued from behind him, and he doubled back to the war room curiously.

He discovered that the source of the sound was Sam's computer, sitting innocently open on the table and beaming its desktop background of fluffy clouds at him. A notification in the corner of the screen informed him that 'Updates were successfully installed'. Come to think of it, the laptop had been stuck on the 'Configuring Windows updates' screen almost since they'd returned from the hunt.

Dean blinked a couple times, then slowly sat down in front of it, hand creeping over to the mousepad. The screen darkened after a minute, and he tapped the mouse to prevent the computer from locking. He'd just take a quick look. Just enough to ease his mind, and then he'd turn off the monitor and go take his fucking nap until Sam got home. There probably wasn't even anything on there that seriously warranted privacy; maybe Sam had some softcore in his downloads that he was being unnecessarily embarrassed about. Yeah, that was probably it.

But Dean didn't check Files first, going for the bigger target--browser history. He opened up Internet Explorer before remembering that Sam wasn't likely to use such an outdated browser, then closed the window and clicked on the Google Chrome shortcut instead. Sure enough, a yellow 'Restore tabs' bar popped up at the top of the homepage, and Dean clicked on it, upon which six tabs sprang open, each page momentarily blank as it loaded. The first tab displayed a long list of unsolved homicide cases for the present year, and Dean gave it only a cursory glance before moving on.

The next four tabs were all open to informational websites about Judeo-Christian mythology, every page having something to do with angels. The pebble of guilt caught in Dean's throat grew rapidly, and he chewed on his bottom lip as he scrolled through the paragraphs of simplified lore onscreen, not knowing whether Sam needed this information for a case he was homing in on or whether he had somehow become aware of Ezekiel's presence.

Just thinking the name made Dean's gut clench, and he zoned out, dwelling nervously on the possibility that Sam knew what had happened--what was currently happening--to him. _No_ , Dean told himself, left hand squeezing into a tight fist. There was no way Sam could know. Ezekiel was making sure of that, keeping him from feeling the time he lost whenever his consciousness was traded for his secret cohabitant's. 

"Dammit," Dean breathed, rubbing at the crick in his neck and feeling more like an asshole the longer he sat there. He'd crammed an angel of dubious intent into his brother and was too chicken shit to _tell him_ about it, and now he was snooping around his laptop like he was searching for something to get angry at him for, to distract himself from the guilt he was wallowing in by dragging Sam into the muddy waters with him.

Disgusted with himself, Dean was about to hit the power button and call it a day, but his eye lingered on the final tab. 'GADforums', the tab title read, and Dean clicked on it reservedly because he knew it would bother him for the rest of the day if he didn't. He found himself looking at a post on a message board, located under the topic 'Paranoid Thoughts'. The header of the post declared, in bolded font, 'Feel like there's someone else in my head'. Ice trickled down Dean's spine. _This is stupid_ , he thought, but he automatically scrolled down to read the full post by user 'dnrmoot', heartbeat beginning to quicken in his chest.

' _I don't know if this forum is the best place to talk about this, but I need to discuss it with people who won't give me that look afterward--you know the one. Or even if you're like the rest, if you're pitying me from your side of the globe, burning that look into your screen, I'll have no idea. I've cracked up a couple times before, official diagnoses and useless meds and everything, so I'm really familiar with that god**** look. Sorry for the tangent. This is my first post here, and I can't help but be a little paranoid about judgment._

_'So...like the title says, I get the feeling I'm not myself sometimes. Not exactly like in the Sybil Dorsett, MPD kind of way, but hell, maybe it_ is _that. I don't know anymore. This isn't the first time I've felt like this, either. I've had some bad experiences, other people poking around in my head, and it's left me kind of a wreck, you know? That's probably too vague. Sorry._

_'Anyway, I've been losing time over the past couple weeks, and sometimes I'll get hurt (like a bruise or a cut that I know for sure was there) and it'll be gone from one second to the next. Sometimes it feels like my ears stop working properly, and I'm hearing everything from underwater. It's shaking me up pretty bad. I can't sleep, I don't have an appetite anymore. I keep having these thoughts like, what if someone else is controlling my body when I'm not aware of it, making me do bad things. That's not new, either. That's actually happened on at least three separate occasions. At this point I'm convinced I can't blame_ those people _anymore, that it was all on me._

_'Reading over this post makes me cringe. I'm not expecting any professional opinions or anything, or even any personal advice (though that would be very much appreciated); I just needed a place to vent about this ****. I don't really have anyone in my life I can talk comfortably about it with. Sorry for rambling.'_

Dean felt ill, hands clammy with sweat as he tried hopelessly not to read too much into it, _It's just a freaky coincidence, get a hold of yourself_. He scrolled down to read the comments, his curiosity piqued further, despite himself.

' _Sounds like you've been through a lot. Are you sure you don't have a close friend or family member to talk to? I know it can be scary as hell, but if you have someone you really, really trust, it can be a huge relief to let them know how you've been feeling_.' 

The reply from 'dnrmoot' went, ' _Thanks for commenting. And yeah, I know that's the kneejerk response, to find a loved one to share the burden with, but. I'm essentially a loner. It's just been me and my partner for years now, and I know for a fact that he doesn't like hearing about this kind of thing. It mostly just makes things strained between us, and things are strained enough as it is_.'

Another user said, ' _I can sort of relate. I have dreams almost every night where I'm killing people I know. It creeps me the **** out but I don't wanna say anything about it cause everyone will think I'm crazy_.' Yet another comment read, ' _Guys...isn't this stuff a little heavy for a generalized anxiety forum?_   _O_O_ '.

Dean read through the rest of the two-page-long thread, paying particular attention to the sparse comments of the original poster, holding his breath in sporadic intervals every time he saw one. By the time he'd finished reading, he'd reluctantly come to an unsettling conclusion, and sure enough, when his eyes finally flicked to the very top of the page and he read the words 'Welcome, dnrmoot. You last visited: Today at 4:35 AM', he was more resigned than shocked.

Turning his gaze back to the last comment he'd read--a real cheerful one about how the feelings were getting worse, how "dnrmoot" had caught his partner calling him by a different name one day, and he couldn't stop thinking about it--he moved the mouse over the poster's username and clicked, leading him to an option that read 'find more posts by this user'. There were forty-seven thread entries in all, and Dean clicked on each of them in turn, feeling worse and worse as he read on. The titles of the original posts were all just as morbid as the first had been (and the content even more so).

' _I hide too much of myself from the people I know_.'

' _Can't relax unless my partner is in my line of sight_.'

' _How do I stop obsessing over stuff that happened a decade ago?_ '

' _Feel mistrusted and misjudged_.'

' _Body image issues_.'

' _Usual coping methods not working_.'

The user's responses to other members' thread starters were more thoughtful than they needed to be for an anonymous Internet forum, long-winded more often than not, and replete with empathetic sentiments and personal suggestions. Dean lost track of time on the website, eyes becoming glazed as he took in word after word. He didn't notice the sound of the front door opening until Sam's voice filtered into his consciousness.

"I'm back!" He called, shutting the door and shuffling around in the foyer. Dean's heart leaped into his throat, and he rushed to close out of the tab and snap the laptop shut, scrambling out of his chair and throwing himself into one at the opposite end of the table. He looked around frantically for the book he'd ostensibly been reading however long ago it was that Sam had left, before spotting it on the floor and snatching it up. He turned to a random page just as Sam walked in, grocery bags in tow.

"Hey," Dean said, wincing when it came out with an edge of mania. Sam blinked in surprise, setting the bags on the table. "Uh...hi. Kinda thought you'd be in bed by now."

Here was where Dean should make a joke, protest the idea that he would ever fall asleep before midnight, but the words wouldn't come. He cleared his throat, staring unseeingly at the page he'd opened to in his book. "Wasn't that sleepy, after all." 

Sam took the chair that Dean had been occupying seconds ago, and Dean had a moment of panic--the chair was surely still warm, Sam would figure out that he'd been--"Hey, did you close the lid before it finished updating? You're not supposed to do that, y'know." Dean's head whipped up, but Sam looked good-natured enough, mouth quirked as he flipped the laptop lid up and typed in his password.

"Yeah, um. Sorry," Dean said, praying Sam wouldn't check the history just yet. He had no clue how he was supposed to bypass the password lock and wipe his browser activity, short of hoping that Sam had to update the computer again soon...and it took long enough for him to leave it unattended at some point...and he stepped out of the bunker and left it with Dean again, during which it would have to update quickly enough for Dean to have time to--goddamn it, he was fucked.

In the other chair, Sam had gone ominously still, the click of the mouse and the sound of Dean's breaths portending what came next. Sam turned to face him. "Dean...were you. Were you on my computer?" He looked pale, and Dean hadn't even answered him yet. "No," Dean lied, hands going tight around the book. "Okay, I'm--it's just, I'm positive I had a different tab open before." It was clear he was going for a casual tone, but he wasn't pulling it off in the slightest. Dean's heart stuttered. "Well, you've been a little weird lately. Forgetting shit left and right." Christ, he was such a dick.

Sam's eyebrows drew together, and he nodded slowly, throat working. "Yeah...yeah. I'm, um, sorry for implying--"

"Sam," Dean interrupted, sweat on the back of his neck itching. "I can't, I can't lie to you anymore." Sam's eyes widened. "What?"

"You were right, I was on your computer. I saw the, uh. The forum posts."

Dean was pretty sure Sam had looked less afraid facing the devil than he did right now. "Fuck." Sam pushed away from the table, clasped his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry," Dean said, hopelessly inadequate. "Sorry for what," Sam snapped, yanking his fingers restlessly through his hair as he paced. "Sorry you read them, or sorry I felt like I needed to make them in the first place?" Dean cowered under the furious gleam in his eyes, said, "Both, I guess."

Sam came to a stop in front of him. "You don't get to violate my privacy like this. I know it's hard for you to understand, but I'm not just your worshipful kid brother anymore. I'm not _obligated_ to stick around." Dean's head spun, and he had to wrangle with an instinctive rush of anger, force it away because he'd crossed a line, _he_ was in the wrong here. And he still hadn't told Sam about Ezekiel.

"No, you're right, Sam. If you wanna take a swing at me to get your point across, go ahead. I can take it." If anything, that seemed to get Sam even more mad. "For fuck's sake--not everything can be solved with physical violence. I don't wanna _hit_ you, you jackass, I want you to fucking _listen_ to me for once." Dean rose to his feet, book dropped to the floor once again as his fists clenched at his sides.

"So talk. You were apparently eager enough to spill your guts to a bunch of faceless strangers on the Internet. But oh yeah, you don't have anyone in your life you can trust, right? I'm obviously too much of a moron to bother sharing anything important with?" Sam was red in the face, visibly shaking. Before Dean could react, Sam put his palms out and shoved Dean in the chest, hard. He nearly tripped on a chair leg, cursing and pushing the chair out of the way. 

"What the fuck, Sam--"

"I've _tried_ to talk to you, I've tried for _years_." He advanced on Dean, backed him into the wall, looming over him like something out of a nightmare. "You never wanna hear it, can't you see that? Didn't you read the fucking posts? You always change the subject, or--or put it off like it's not worth the trouble. And even when I do talk, I feel so shitty, like," Sam stammered, gripped Dean's sleeve, "Like I'm getting to be a bigger burden than you signed up for. Like I'm...sucking out your life force, or--dammit, shit."

He broke off on a sob, swiveled away from Dean and took his seat at the table, burying his face in his hands. All the fight drained out of Dean in an instant, and he stepped forward tentatively.

"Sam..."

"It's so stupid," Sam whispered.

"It isn't," Dean said. "I've been screwing up. I know I have." _Understatement_. 

"Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?"

"No," Sam said.

"Okay." 

Dean took a seat next to Sam, getting an urge to touch him but feeling like he probably shouldn't. "Earlier," Sam said, pulling his hands away from his face with some effort, "You said you couldn't lie to me _anymore_. Was that--were you referring to...something specific?" Dean swallowed several times to clear his throat. He'd known this was coming, realized the inevitability of it from the moment he'd outlined his last-ditch plan to Ezekiel. It didn't lessen his terror any.

Of course, he didn't have to stay true to his word right now, could tell Sam he hadn't meant anything more by it, that he'd just been talking about the laptop. But even if he thought Sam would actually buy that, Dean felt nauseous even considering it, and he _had_ to break this pattern he'd fallen into, this habit of keeping things from Sam for as long as he could, until they were both crushed under the weight of what was going unsaid between them.

"Sam, I...I have something I need to tell you." 

* * *

 

Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) Forums > Recovery > Personal Triumphs  

[Page 1 of 6]

07-25-2015, 06:30 AM

dnrmoot

Status: on the mend 

Join Date: Nov 2014 

Posts: 291

**Dealing**  

Hey, guys. I haven't been around in ages, and I just realized I kind of missed making these posts. It came to be almost cathartic for me. Some of you have commented on my thread starters so often that I'd even started to think of you as friends. To get back on track, though, I'm writing this because I feel like I'm finally at a better place mentally and emotionally, and like I won't actually feel the need to visit this forum anymore.

Recap: My partner's become a lot more open with me, and I can confidently say that neither of us is lying to each other like we always used to. He doesn't bring up my past mistakes at all anymore (thank ****), and we're working well together--like, maybe as well as we did when we were much younger. The two of us had a big falling out a while back, but we got through it, and he was the one who set aside his grievances and started slowly patching us back up (for which I'm still really grateful). My insomnia isn't so bad now, and I can look at myself in the mirror without freaking out. I feel better than I have in years, which shouldn't be saying much, but...it is.

It helps that the guy who got in my head (in more ways than one) is long gone, and that my partner and I are kicking ass at our job. The weekly therapy and the RL friendships I've deepened don't hurt, either. At one point last year I'd felt like I was happier than I'd ever been, but it turned out I was horribly disillusioned at the time. Now, though...maybe now's when I get to experience the real thing.

I'll leave you with one last thought: throughout all the **** I've dealt with and all the times I've felt like eating a bullet, I've never stopped believing that I can change for the better. And trust me when I say that coming from someone like me, that's something. If I can continue to hope at this point, so should you. Because your issues don't define you, but the way you deal with them might, in the long run. I've spent a chunk of my life indiscriminately telling people that "It gets better". The sentiment isn't true for everybody, but even when it isn't, there's always the hope that it eventually will. My advice: act on that hope, no matter how faint it's become.

If at all possible, distance yourself from the negativity in your life. Make big changes that you've been meaning to but have always been too afraid of. Take a single step forward, see where it leads. I dunno. You've most likely heard all this before over and over again, but hey, it feels good--or it does for me, at least--to actually take it to heart. That's all I have to say. Those of you who have my email address should feel free to continue messaging me.

To everyone reading this: good luck on moving forward. 

**Author's Note:**

> GADforums is a product of my imagination. Its layout was inspired by the GAD section of psychforums, and by the socialanxietysupport forums, the latter of which I'm actually a member of. All postings mentioned in this fic were made up by me.


End file.
